


for a relative value of weird (J2, NC-17)

by electricalgwen



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricalgwen/pseuds/electricalgwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masturbation. Lots of it. Denial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for a relative value of weird (J2, NC-17)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://apreludetoanend.livejournal.com/profile)[**apreludetoanend**](http://apreludetoanend.livejournal.com/), this was a birthday gift based on a long-ago prompt she gave me (which I shamelessly incorporated into the story itself. *g*)
> 
> It's probably just as well I don't know Erin in RL, because seriously, the things she can get me to do. I swear, this is the first and last time I'll be writing non-AU J2 RPF - or at least, as non-AU as it gets, given that this didn't actually happen. Thanks to [](http://crazydiamondsue.livejournal.com/profile)[**crazydiamondsue**](http://crazydiamondsue.livejournal.com/) for a super quick beta.

Acting’s fucking _hard_ work.

Jensen’s not complaining. It’s a hell of a show, great production team, awesome costar, and a character that makes him pull out all the stops, give it his best. Lots of wannabe actors’d sell their soul to be where he is.

Except where he was all day was mostly knocked on his ass on the ground, or soaked with water, or yelling at Sam or, even worse, not yelling at Sam. He’s been deep inside Dean’s head, raw and fucked up; he’s exhausted and wired and sick with adrenaline. Humans weren’t made to work sixteen-hour days, he tells Jared, as they drag themselves to the car. There was no need to shoot that fight scene _eleven_ fucking times, his contacts are itchy and his right knee is _killing_ him, the jeans are too goddamn tight when they’re wet, the lights…

…ah hell, who’s he kidding. Yeah, he’s complaining. Whining, even.

Jared puts up with it. Possibly out of sheer exhaustion. He’s collapsed with his face smooshed against the window, eyes shut, arms splayed haphazardly. He still quirks a smile every so often, though, and when Jensen stops to take a breath, Jared jostles Jensen’s (left) knee.

“Keep your legs on your own damn side,” Jensen says, shoving ineffectively.

“Just giving you something new to complain about,” Jared mumbles, and he grins again when Jensen kicks him.

Jared literally falls out of the car when they get home, catching his foot on the doorframe. He curses sleepily all the way into the house, cradling his shoulder, and peels off his shirts the minute they get inside. “Shit. Ow. Is that gonna bruise?”

Jensen comes up close behind Jared’s chair and inspects the damage, digging his thumb gently into muscle and resting his fingers on Jared’s sweat-tacky skin. Jared flexes and Jensen can feel a crunch, faint catch as the ligament slides.

“Better get someone to look at it tomorrow,” he says.

“Mmmmmph,” mumbles Jared, slumping back, eyes closed, head lolling against Jensen’s stomach. Jensen watches his hand rubbing slow circles on Jared’s neck and shoulder.

He trails his fingers down Jared’s bare side and pokes him hard. Jared squeals and nearly flops out of the chair.

“Get to bed before you fall asleep here, or you’ll _really_ hurt when you wake up,” Jensen admonishes, and heads for the bathroom.

He doesn’t fall into bed when he’s done, instead wandering out to the living room. He’s still jittery, he’ll crash soon enough but he knows that if he lay down right now he’d just stare wide-eyed at the ceiling while his mind replayed every screw-up he made today. All overlaid with Dean’s sick desperation.

Late-night TV sucks. Sad that it’s preferable to his own brain.

Jensen clicks through channels. It’s almost weird, controlling the TV. Jared probably hasn’t noticed, but it’s always him in charge of the remote. Jensen goes for it sometimes, but mostly because Jared gets such glee out of managing to wrestle it away from Jensen and making them watch his crap shows. Besides, it’s Jared’s house. _Driver picks the music._

God, there really is nothing good on TV this time of night.

Oh. Yeah, okay, that’s… that’d be all right. Porn doesn’t demand any actual brain activity, and maybe it’s just what he needs to unwind.

He mutes the sound. The visuals are fine but the cheesy music and fake moans are more of a turn-off than anything, and he doesn’t want to disturb Jared.

The on-screen blonde licks her lips and lowers her wide, red mouth onto a very large cock. Jensen pushes down his jeans, freeing his own hardening dick. The girl settles into an enthusiastic blowjob, head bobbing up and down; Jensen matches her rhythm with his hand.

He’s starting to get there, feeling an anticipatory tingle in his balls, when there’s a creak in the hallway, followed by a flicker in the corner of his vision.

He freezes mid-stroke and watches Jared stumble past the door and into the kitchen.

The fridge door opens. Jensen needs to tuck himself back in his pants; he needs to find the remote and change the fucking channel; he needs to not be doing this.

Only to do that he needs to let go of his goddamned dick and start actually _moving_ and possibly even thinking and instead he sits there frozen while his mind gibbers randomly at him and his dick twitches and leaks all over his hand and the fridge door shuts and Jared appears in the doorway, blinking at him and sucking back a bottle of water.

Jensen opens and closes his mouth, opens it again to say god knows what, but gets distracted by the way Jared’s throat is working.

“Huh,” Jared says softly, and then _Jesus_ he walks forward and plops himself down on the other end of the sofa, staring at the screen.

Jensen can feel the red rising over his chest and face. It’s one thing to jerk off in the shower, or in his room with the door locked and music on. Jared does the same thing.

Sitting here with his hand wrapped around his dick, on Jared’s couch, _with_ Jared, is a whole new level of awkward.

It should make it less awkward when Jared shoves down his sweatpants. When the slip-slide of Jared’s hand and the hitches in Jared’s breathing are louder than Jensen’s own; when Jared sinks down even further, spreading his legs, and really goes at it.

It should, except that Jensen is struggling to keep his eyes on the screen, because he can kind of see Jared in the corner of his vision and _god_ Jared’s fucking up into his oversized fist and his hair’s falling in sweaty clumps over his forehead and he’s biting his lip. Jensen’s seen Jared in a lot of situations – hell, he lives with the guy – but a horny, masturbating Jared is something new. New, and, Jensen thinks, incredibly hot. And that is a _ridiculously_ new level of awkward that he can’t deal with right now. Possibly not ever.

So he watches the blonde get tit-fucked and keeps moving his own fist, like this is normal, like this is something they do together all the time, and pretty soon he’s cresting the edge again, biting back a moan.

The blonde drops to her hands and knees and gasps as big hands grasp her hips and that giant cock spears into her. Next to him Jared groans and stills, heels digging into the carpet, and Jensen dares a quick glance sideways. Jared’s got his eyes shut, head thrown back, and as Jensen watches he arches his hips right off the couch and shoots all over his bare stomach and chest.

Jensen makes a choked little noise and comes so hard he sees paisley patterns behind his own clenched eyelids.

His hand slowly stills on his dick. His bones are water, his brain mush. He thinks he may have whimpered. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes, to see Jared.

There’s a rustle as Jared tucks himself back in, a contented sigh as he stands, a small laugh.

“You have the best ideas,” he says, and leaves the room.

 

 

 

Jensen thinks it should be weird.

It’s not weird. Or at least, Jared doesn’t seem to think it’s weird.

Jensen thinks maybe that’s because once you’re friends with Chad, the definitions of “weird” and “embarrassing” take on whole new dimensions.

Regardless, Jared has coffee waiting the next morning, like always, and falls asleep on Jensen in the back seat, like always, and they click along in the scenes like always until Jared goofs and Jensen riffs off it and the crew guffaws and the director yells at them to go again. Like always.

Jensen thinks maybe this is something guys do. Not that he had. But maybe other guys do. Maybe it’s something Jared and his buddies used to do? Not something weird at all. That’s a reassuring thought, until he can’t help thinking about Jared jerking off with _Chad,_ and then he thinks he needs to stop thinking.

Plus, there’s pizza. They’re home again, on the couch again, and Jensen would be worrying that it’s weird, except he’s too fucking tired and there’s pizza to eat.

Jared opens wide and crams practically an entire slice in his mouth. Jensen watches in awe.

“Shit, man. I can’t believe what you can fit in there.”

Jared waggles his eyebrows and says, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” and Jensen chokes and pretends it’s from the hot peppers. He picks the rest of them off the slice and drops them in the box lid. All but one; that one he throws at Jared, who is still smirking.

Jared grins. He has pizza sauce on the corner of his mouth. Jensen’s gaze gets caught on Jared’s tongue as it snakes out and licks his skin clean.

“Earth to Jensen?” Jared is waving a hand in front of his face. Jensen forces a smile.

“Sorry, man. I’m just… today was rough.”

“Yeah,” Jared says.

He reaches over Jensen and grabs for the remote, which is half-buried down the side of the couch where Jensen dropped it last night. Dropped it after it fumbled through shaking fingers, which he’d just wiped clean on his shirt after coming his brains out on this couch sitting next to Jared.

Fuck it, this _is_ weird. How the hell can Jared not think it’s weird? He’s leaning across Jensen, practically got his face buried in Jensen’s crotch. Not that this hasn’t happened before, but now? It’s weird.

Jared straightens back up, levering himself with an elbow that slips and crashes into Jensen’s stomach. Jensen yelps in protest. Jared just laughs and waves the remote around gleefully, and well, it’s pretty much obligatory for Jensen to growl and try and snatch it back. They scuffle until Jensen falls off the couch, narrowly missing a disgruntled Harley, and Jared crows in triumph.

Harley snorts, gives them a disapproving glare, and trots from the room. Jensen lifts his head to watch him go, then drops it back down. He’s never moving again.

Jared rolls over and leans off the couch to look down. “Jen. C’mon back up.”

Jensen lets his eyes flutter shut. “Nope. Stayin’ here.”

“Aw, no need to be like that. Just lemme keep the remote, nobody gonna get hurt.”

“Can’t move,” Jensen mumbles. “Floor comfy.”

There’s a pause, then an affectionate sigh, and a few seconds later a cushion lands on his head.

Jensen hadn’t seriously planned on staying down here, but he’s warm, well fed, exhausted, and he’s got a pillow and a rug. He scuffles the cushion under his head and is out before Jared can flick through more than three channels.

He wakes up slowly to the sadly familiar feel of a dog mostly on top of him, and new-but-rapidly-becoming-familiar sounds that have his dick hardening before he even registers what’s happening.

Porn’s back on the TV, and Jared is making stifled little moans above him. Jared’s leg is against Jensen’s shoulder; fuck, Jensen’s pillow is on Jared’s _feet._ Jensen is perfectly okay in general with Jared being okay with this thing which is not in any weird, but. There’s no way he’s lying on Jared’s feet while Jared gets off.

He lifts his head. Jared stills. Sadie snuffles and rolls off Jensen.

“How the hell can you do that with the dogs watching?” Jensen says.

Jared lets out a startled laugh. “She was asleep too. Till you woke her up.” He pokes Sadie with his toes. “Kitchen. Go.” He points with the hand not currently shoved into his opened jeans.

Sadie grumbles and heads out the door, claws clacking down the hallway.

Jensen staggers to his feet, yawning, and makes the mistake of glancing at Jared, who is still lazily stroking himself while looking past Jensen. His eyes look black in the flickering light from the TV.

Jensen gets fully, blindingly hard so fast he feels dizzy. He drops onto his corner of the couch, head spinning.

Jared gives him a companionable grin, says, “Seen this one before, there’s a good bit coming up,” and returns his attention to the screen.

Jensen’s hands are shaking as he opens his pants. His nerves are sparking randomly, every bit of him tense and yearning for release. He works his dick, stares blankly at the movie, listens to Jared, and comes so hard he nearly blacks out.

 

 

 

Jensen is in trouble.

Not _I overslept_ or _I have no clean socks_ or _your mom called but I accidentally deleted the voicemail_ trouble. Not even _the Internet is fucking insane_ trouble.

It's three a.m. after what feels like a lifetime on set; he and Jared are bone-tired but too wired to sleep. So once again, they're on opposite ends of the couch, dicks in hand, eyes glued to the television, jerking off to porn. It's become a thing, an entirely normal thing – as long as Jensen doesn't think about it too long or too hard or too often or in too much detail.

God, he is so screwed.

They keep ending up here, and Jensen isn’t sure by now how he’d get through his days without it. A few times, he’s headed for his room the minute they got in the door, pleading exhaustion. He means to crash straight into oblivion but instead he ends up lying there restless and unsatisfied, a relentless throbbing ache between his legs. He pictures his usual fantasies, gets himself off quickly and efficiently so he can sleep, but it’s not the same.

Still, he can cope. It’s not weird. It’s not a _problem._

Jared comes not three feet away from him, panting harshly with each spurt of his dick.

Jensen follows him in seconds, the force of his orgasm almost blinding him.

The couch shifts as Jared stands. Jensen stays put, mouth slack, eyelids too heavy to open.

Jared nudges his foot. “You don’t wanna sleep here. Get up, c’mon.”

Jensen just grunts.

A hand wraps around Jensen’s wrist, and Jensen allows himself to be hauled to his feet because it’s that or Jared will fall on top of him and Jared’s _heavy._

Jared’s hand slips into his, tugs him down the hall. Jensen can’t manage more than a “Nnngh” in thanks when Jared gives him a little push towards his bedroom door; he has to concentrate on actually opening his eyes at that point, before he does himself serious injury. By the time he does, Jared is gone.

Jensen doesn’t go in; instead, he heads for the bathroom. He turns on the taps with his left hand, staring down at his sticky right hand and realizes: Jared held that hand. Jared has _Jensen’s come_ on his skin.

The water runs down the drain. Jensen looks in the mirror. The face looking back looks like it always does.

 

 

 

It’s not a problem. Until one day it is.

Jared’s relaxed, with easy smile and professional attitude to the fore. He cracks a couple of jokes, nothing inappropriate; Genevieve grins and rolls her shoulders, working out any tension.

Then the cameras start rolling.

Their faces are close, too close, as they speak the words. Energy crackles between them.

Ruby’s standing over Sam. Sam grabs her, manhandles her across his lap, those big hands spread across her thighs as he pulls her in. They’re kissing, biting at each other, hands sliding and grasping, tangling in hair. Ruby’s making encouraging little noises and Sam –

Sam’s breathing hard, hair falling over his face, and then he pulls back just far enough to yank his shirt over his head. A trickle of sweat down his back catches the dimmed light. Ruby’s shirt joins Sam’s on the floor and Jensen _knows_ the gasps and grunts Sam makes as Ruby rubs up against him.

His own breath is coming short. Dean’s jeans are painfully tight. It’s a Pavlovian response; Jared’s conditioned him well.

There’s no way Jensen can make it through the rest of the day like this.

Ruby swivels her hips a bit too much, overbalances, falls off Sam’s lap and lands on her ass with a startled curse.

Jared springs to his feet, babbling apologies, and reaches down to help Genevieve up. She laughs and sways in close to him.

“Back in position!” someone yells. “Take it from the top.”

Jensen heads for his trailer. They won’t be needing him for a while. He locks the door and takes care of things.

After, he splashes cold water over his face and glares at mirror-Jensen, grimly acknowledging that weird was several exits back. He’s got no idea where he’s headed now, but he feels like the destination is ominous and getting closer with alarming rapidity.

He hits his marks perfectly all afternoon. Between takes, he stays in Dean’s head, meets Jared’s eyes with Dean’s cool, wary gaze and answers any questions in brief monosyllables.

Jared chews on licorice sticks and watches him thoughtfully.

 

 

 

Jensen doesn’t bitch at all on the drive home that night. Doesn’t say a thing. Jared eyes him oddly for several blocks, until fatigue gets the better of him. Jensen has to shake him awake when the car pulls up outside the house.

Jared kicks off his shoes and leaves them in the middle of the hallway for Jensen to trip over in the morning. “Chinese good?”

Jensen nods.

“Everything okay?”

“Tough day,” Jensen says.

“Hmm,” says Jared.

Jensen staggers to the shower as Jared’s dialing. The hot water is blissful and he nearly falls asleep twice against the tiled wall. By the time he emerges, the house already smells delicious; he doesn’t bother to do more than pull on some ancient pajama pants before heading to the living room where the food is spread on the coffee table.

“Don’t burn yourself,” Jared says with raised eyebrows and his mouth half full.

Jensen ignores him. There’s cashew chicken.

He does in fact spill hot sticky rice on his bare stomach. Jared snorts with laughter and suggests he let Sadie clean it up. Jensen gives him the finger.

They scrape their plates clean. Jared sinks down into the couch and sighs deeply, propping his feet up on the table. Jensen stares at his legs and thinks of Genevieve straddling them, plastered mouth-to-hips against Jared.

“Did the Impala smell funny to you today?” Jared says. “It smelled funny to me. I think they’ve got some new product for cleaning it. They were kind of mad when I spilled Coke on the seat.”

Jensen knows from long experience that Jared doesn’t require a response.

Jared clears his throat. “You wanna?” he says, spinning the remote.

The tension from earlier in the day slams back into Jensen with full force. His knee jitters uncontrollably. He tips his head back against the couch, closes his eyes, and tries to steady his breathing. He wants, and he doesn’t want.

“Look like you need to relax,” Jared says, “I sure as hell do,” and there’s the sound of his zipper being drawn down.

Jensen keeps his eyes shut and bites his lower lip hard as his hand slides beneath the waistband of his pants. What the hell. He really, _really_ needs to get off.

He’s so rattled and out of it, and so tuned into listening to Jared’s noises, that it takes him a full two minutes to realize that Jared hasn’t actually turned on the TV.

He startles, turns his head, and there is Jared, closer than Jensen remembers, watching _him._

Like – god, like _that._

Jared’s palming his dick in long slow strokes, licking his lips, and staring at him with a burning intensity Jensen’s only seen from Sam before.

Jensen feels raw, stripped bare.

Jared scoots closer. Something in Jensen’s chest is hurting. He can’t speak, can’t move, can’t look away; he feels like he’s caught in that strange half-waking stage when your brain hasn’t figured out where your body is yet or how to work it.

Jared reaches out, and then hesitates, hand hovering.

 _“Yes,”_ Jensen grits out and Jared’s eyes flash.

Jared’s hands on him are a thousand times better than Jensen would have imagined, if he’d imagined, which he hadn’t because that would _definitely_ have been weird. Before he can process how truly amazing Jared’s hands are, he’s falling apart beneath them, brain offline, body hanging on the edge.

“Come for me,” Jared says, low and hungry, and Jensen obliges.

It is entirely possible, Jensen thinks as he tries to find his way back into his head, that he has suffered permanent brain damage. Jared ought to come with warning labels for sex. He’ll tell him so as soon as he can manage such elite concepts as language.

Jared’s hands were still smoothing warm over his stomach and thighs, but now they’re withdrawn. Jensen nearly whimpers in protest but then Jared’s groaning, and Jensen realizes that it’s only fair to let Jared’s dick get some attention too. They’re his hands, after all.

He opens his eyes just in time to watch Jared make his beautiful, stupid orgasm-face as he shoots all over Jensen.

Jensen looks down at the mess on him. Their mess.

“Is this weird?” Jensen says finally.

Jared rolls back against the couch cushions and laughs.

“Seriously,” Jensen says.

Jared stands, reaches down a hand and pulls Jensen to his feet. Jensen stumbles awkwardly; Jared’s other hand is warm on the small of his back, steadying him.

“Come to bed,” Jared says, and heads up the stairs, not looking back.

And Jensen follows, because this is one of the constants in the universe, as can be attested to by friends, relatives, co-workers, traumatized theme park employees, and the girl in that tattoo parlor in LA.

Jensen will always follow Jared.


End file.
